


Don't ask too many questions (you don't want answers to)

by patientalien



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Sexist Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patientalien/pseuds/patientalien
Summary: After the death of Thor's father, he and Bruce return to Thor's childhood home to meet up with his siblings for the first time in years. Secrets are revealed, plots are unraveled, and Thor finds himself having to fight back his own demons in order to move on.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Thor, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating this as often as humanly possible. I usually wait until I've got a finished product, but hey, instant gratification is good too.
> 
> I've done a lot of research, but I'm sure I got some details wrong. Sorry in advance. 
> 
> Title may change.

The sun beat down on the asphalt, reflecting the heat back up at the men hard at work erecting Stark Industries' latest eyesore. Thor Odinson slung his sledgehammer over his shoulder and wiped sweat from his face with the bottom of his filthy once-white t-shirt, more than ready to call it a day now that even Steve, a foreman who might as well have been some sort of super soldier for how far he could push himself, was feeling sick from the heat. 

"Hopefully we'll have some cloud cover tomorrow," Steve said as he slammed his toolkit shut and locked it with a twist of his wrist. "You down for some overtime if that happens?"

Thor nodded. "Yeah, that's fine, but could we do cash?" Under the table was always preferred, for a variety of reasons. 

Steve leveled him with a critical look, arms crossed over his chest, but eventually nods. "As long as everything's okay," he said, making Thor bristle.

"Everything's fine," Thor replied, casual, popping open the door of his old pickup. "I'm going home and showering for a hundred years." 

Steve snorts. He swings a leg over the seat of his motorcycle, waiting for Bucky to climb on the back. "Tell Bruce hi," Steve requested before revving the engine and driving away. 

Thor waited until he couldn't see the motorcycle in distance anymore, letting the struggling air conditioning in the truck try to make the cabin feel less like the tenth circle of hell. Once he was sure his was the last vehicle on the work lot, he reached over to the glove box to grab one of the mini bottles of vodka that were meant to ease the ache of a ten-hour shift of hard labor. 

The liquid was hot, which was not generally a quality Thor looked for in his alcohol, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and despite the unpleasantness, it got the job done and it gave him what he needed to get where he was going. Pulling out his phone and a pack of cigarettes, he lit one and dialed Bruce's number, smoking idly while he waited for the man to pick up. 

"Hey, good day at work?" 

"Hot as fuck. Good day at therapy?" 

Silence for a moment. "The other guy broke a plate," Bruce admitted. "Not one of the nice ones, though, so that's progress." His tone was rueful, self-depricating, and Thor gritted his teeth. "It was tiring, so I didn't have a chance to make dinner or anything."

"I'll bring something home. Tacos okay?" The taquerita was right next door to another stop he needed to make anyway, and he could always count on his buddy behind the bar to hook him up with a margarita while he waited. 

"Yeah, get me some rice and beans too," Bruce requested. Then, in a tone that Thor could swear was suspicious, "Are you stopping anywhere else?" 

"Not that I know of," Thor lied easily. "Why? Did you need me to?" 

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. "No," Bruce said then, "I just really want you to come home."

"Give me a half hour, and I'll give you a backrub while you eat your tacos," Thor promised, tossing his phone into the passenger seat and lighting another cigarette as he pulled out of the lot and onto the road. 

\---------------

Bruce Banner pulled the pillow he'd had pressed against his head for the last hour down over his face as he listened for the tell-tale signs of Thor returning home. The screech of tires into the driveway, the sounds of Led Zepplin over the truck's puny sound system still audible even inside. 

Bruce sat up a little straighter, trying to push any evidence of the slips he had made throughout the day to the background. It wasn't as though Thor was unaware, it was just… Well, Thor had his own problems, and Bruce wasn't exactly keen on making things worse for either of them. 

"Hey!" Thor greeted, throwing his arms around Bruce as he entered the house through the garage. One hand was holding a takeout bag, the other a paper bag that clinked when Bruce brushed against it. "I missed you!"

Bruce could smell the breath mint in Thor's mouth, but that didn't mean anything. Of course it didn't, Thor had promised he would cut back on his drinking, and Bruce had no reason to disbelieve him. "I missed you too," he admitted softly, wrapping his arms around Thor's muscular torso, feeling the sense of safety and security he always did in Thor's arms. 

"Tacos?" Thor asked, pulling away after a moment, brandishing the paper bag with grease marks all over it. 

Bruce managed to grin at that. "Yeah, tacos," he agreed.

  
  


\---------------

"Heimdall's calling me," Thor said suddenly, halfway through the movie they were watching. Bruce frowned slightly, because Heimdall only ever really called when Odin wanted something, and his missives were always accompanied by a massive downswing in Thor's usually upbeat and optimistic mood. Neither Bruce nor the other guy liked it when Thor was upset to that extent, and it only ever happened when Thor's family was involved. 

He reached over to give Thor's arm a supportive squeeze, but Thor was already on his feet, phone pressed to his ear, walking towards the kitchen. Bruce paused the movie and tried not to eavesdrop, though Thor was keeping his voice low enough not to be heard. 

The conversation went on for long enough that Bruce hadn't even realized he had dissociated until Thor was sitting back down heavily beside him on the sofa, a glass of vodka over ice gripped loosely in his hand. "Odin's dead." 

Bruce turned to Thor, a dozen emotions clamoring for attention. The other guy tried to push forward, but Bruce firmly told him to wait. He would have his chance to comfort Thor. "I'm so sorry," he said, meaning it. Odin might have been a bastard, but Thor's relationship with him had been complicated. 

"I'm not," Thor snorted, raising his glass in a mock toast. "Enjoy hell, you miserable fuck." 

Bruce blinked in surprise, although all Thor's outburst really told him was that the glass in his hand was not his first. Bruce didn't want to resent a dead man for undoing all the progress Thor had made, but he did anyway. "Are you okay?" he asked, despite the obvious answer. 

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose and then leaned his elbows on his knees. "I don't know," he admitted after a moment. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel." 

Luckily - or perhaps not - Bruce had fairly extensive hands-on experience with terrible upbringings. He understood all too well the conflicting emotions that could arise, and he hoped Thor would trust him with them instead of trying to drown them in a bottle. 

"I think however you're feeling in the moment is how you're supposed to be feeling," Bruce suggested, a suggestion from his own therapist earlier that very day. 

Thor raised his head and shrugged. "I guess." He sipped his drink for a moment, then added, "The funeral and the will reading are this weekend. I'm apparently expected to be there or I forfeit my part of of the inheritance. Everybody is."

"Loki?" 

Thor shrugged again. "Probably, I haven't heard from him in weeks."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Bruce asked next. 

This time, Thor nodded, reaching out to deposit the half-empty glass on the coffee table. "It's going to suck," he warned. 

"Family shit usually does," Bruce agreed, rubbing Thor's arm gently. "If worse comes to worse I can let the other guy play and the attention is off you for a while." He was only half kidding.

Thor chuckled, but then heaved a sigh. "Can we just finish the movie?" he asked, plaintive. "I don't want to think about it right now." 

If Thor stayed true to form, there was a good chance he would try to avoid thinking about it for as long as possible in any way he could. If finishing the movie would keep the glass on the coffee table where it is, Bruce was more than happy to accommodate. Guiding Thor to lay down with his head in Bruce's lap, he hit play on the remote and brushed his fingers through Thor's hair until the credits rolled. 

\----------------

Dead. 

Dead.

Odin was dead.

Thor shook his head violently to dislodge the thought, bringing his sledgehammer down hard on the piece of drywall he was supposed to be gently easing into place. It split down the middle with a crack. 

"What's the matter? Getting tired?" Steve teased from further down the wall, wiping sweat from his eyes with a gloved hand. 

Thor managed a tight smile in response and set his hammer down. "I gotta take a piss," he said. "I'll fix that when I get back."

The air in the cabin of his truck was so hot it feels almost like a solid and it took Thor's breath away for a moment. He fumbled for the glovebox, the mini bottles that would quiet his mind for long enough to get through the rest of his workday. He held his nose to choke two of them down, tucking the empties down between the passenger seat and the center console. He would have sat there for a while and let them sink in, but it was too damn hot, and his thoughts were not ones he particularly wanted to be alone with. 

He popped a mint and went back to work. 

\---------------

It was nighttime, and storming, by the time Bruce heard Thor's truck pull into the driveway, an abrupt screech of brakes. He had spent the evening trying not to worry after Thor's last text telling him he would be home late. He had tried not to assume, but the sound of Thor fumbling with getting his key in the lock told him all he needed to know. 

He tried not to be angry. The anger was what would cause more problems, because the anger is what would bring the other guy out. Bruce appreciated his small system's attempts to protect him, but an angry toddler was not what Thor needed to deal with right now. If it had been any other time, if it wasn't happening on the heels of Odin's death, Bruce would have let the shift happen and leave Thor to his own devices. 

Instead, though, he got up and opened the door, catching Thor as he fell forward, having not anticipated the movement. He reeked of cigarettes and beer and vodka and it took all of Bruce's coping mechanisms to remain in the moment. Thor was not Brian Banner. Thor had never hurt him, had never shown any sign of violence. He was safe with Thor, even if Thor'd had too much to drink. He didn't need the other guy right now. 

"Thor" he sighed as Thor straightened. "You should have taken a cab or something." 

Thor let out a boozy sigh. "Sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to." 

Bruce winced, because Thor never  _ meant _ to. Just like Bruce never  _ meant _ to dissociate, Thor never  _ meant _ to drink more than he should. The nature of the disease, Bruce knew, but it didn't exactly make these times any easier. He could feel the edges of awareness start to fray and pulled himself back, almost violently. 

"Let's just get you to bed, how about that?" Bruce suggested, letting Thor make his own way into the house. 

Thor reached up to rub his eyes, shuffling his way to the bathroom, Bruce following behind, wringing his hands because Thor was never this quiet, not drunk, not sober, never. "Thor?" he prompted. 

Thor turned in the doorway, reaching up to hold onto the doorframe with one hand. "M'okay," he said. "I'll sleep on the couch." 

Bruce wanted to tell Thor he didn't need to do that, but… "I'll go pull it out and put the sheets on," he offered. Thor nodded, backed into the bathroom, and shut the door. Bruce stood there long enough to hear the sound of retching. 

The pullout couch had been a necessary purchase, especially early on. Before either of them had control, nighttime was fraught with fights, with hurt feelings, with fear. Thor had been the one to suggest it, sleeping separately when they were in danger of triggering each other. After that, it happened rarely, which Bruce had appreciated. And he tried not to take it personally when it  _ did _ happen, just like he was sure Thor tried not to take it personally when the other guy shoved him out of bed to hog all the covers. 

By the time Bruce was finished making a comfortable nest of blankets and pillows, filling two glasses with water, and putting the trash bin next to the couch, Thor was shuffling back out into the living room, changed into sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt with the Stark Industries logo emblazoned across the front in fading black letters. "How are you feeling?" Bruce asked. 

Thor just shrugged, standing there for a moment, looking down at the floor. "Talked to Loki," he said after a moment. Ah, so thats what brought this on. 

"Is he going to be there?" Bruce asked. He still hadn't decided if Loki was good or bad for Thor. Hela was decidedly bad. Loki - Loki was variable, but he was important to Thor. 

Thor nodded. "It'll be a regular family reunion," he said with a hoarse laugh, tossing himself onto the couch and grabbing the remote to turn the television on. It was like Bruce wasn't even there. 

"I'll see you in the morning," he said quietly, reminding himself not to take it personally. Then, after a pause with no response. "I love you."

"Love you too," Thor said, not looking at him. 

Bruce was gone before he even got to the bedroom, the other guy punching a hole through the drywall. Thor stayed where he was, staring at the television but not seeing it at all. 

\--------------

Thor wasn't entirely certain when he had made it home, but he knows he must have because he remembered stumbling outside to have a smoke, puking in the bushes next to the front steps, then falling back onto the couch. Other than that, very little made it through the fuzz in his brain and the ringing in his ears. His mouth tasted like an ashtray and he was pretty sure he would be bolting for the bathroom at any moment. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, he had done it again. 

The sheets underneath him were soft and cool and he spread his limbs, willing his body temperature to lower a bit so he didn't feel so damn sweaty and clammy. The morning-after guilt hammered at him, the self-loathing of knowing he had gone so far overboard. He could usually control it better. He usually did control it better. 

If it were just him, he would hardly care. But he knew Bruce's background, knew his triggers. He knew his own problem exacerbated Bruce's condition. He tried, he really tried, to keep it out of the house, or at least out of Bruce's face. Breath mints, hiding bottles, ducking out to the porch to take a drink under the guise of having a cigarette before brushing his teeth and going to bed. Out of sight, out of mind, after all. 

And he had to go and throw it out into the open again, like a goddamned idiot. At a time when he really needed Bruce, and not his alter. Idiot, like Loki had said on the phone last night. 

Thor scowled and swung his legs over the side of the couch, waiting for the nausea to fade before getting up and heading for the kitchen. Luckily, he hadn't lost his phone the night before, and as he mixed himself a bloody mary with the last mini bottle he found in his jacket pocket, he texted Steve to let him know he wouldn't be in for a few days. Even told him that Odin had kicked it. 

Predictably, Steve told him to take all the time he needed. Thor thanked him, and got to work making an apology breakfast for Bruce. 

\---------------

Bruce hated waking up knowing he had gone away but not knowing what the other guy had gotten up to in his absence. Luckily, this time there was only a small dent in the drywall and a broken picture frame. It could have been worse. It used to be worse. 

He could hear Thor moving around in the kitchen, and could smell breakfast meats sizzling on the stove. He breathed out a long sigh and worked through his morning meditation before thinking about how this was just part of the pattern.

Thor would slip. Thor would drink enough to be noticeable - because Bruce wasnt an idiot, and he knew Thor hadn't quit entirely - and Bruce would go away. The other guy would break some stuff, and Thor would wake up feeling hungover and guilty and would make Bruce an extravagant breakfast. 

More of the same. 

He tried not to take it personally, but his subconcious upset must have been strong, because by the time he reached the kitchen he was gone and the other guy was in his place. 

"Thor sad," the other guy said. 

Thor looked up from the frying pan he was standing over in surprise. "No I'm not," he replied. 

The other guy matched over to Thor and gave him a firm shove. "Thor  _ sad _ !" 

Thor rolled his eyes and sighed. "Come on, Hulk, not right now." He liked the Hulk, as Bruce's other had asked to be called, but not after a night of drinking. All the more reason for him to have tried harder to keep a wraps on it last night. He should have known. 

Hulk huffed and stomped away, but then stomped back and shoved Thor again. Thor planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, because he was not in the mood for this at all. "Let Banner come back," he insisted. He usually didn't ask, it usually didn't bother him. 

But right now he wasn't in the mood to play. "My dad's funeral is tomorrow, Hulk," he explained. "I need Bruce with me. You and I can do something afterwards, okay? Do you think you can let him stay until after the weekend?" 

Hulk seemed to consider Thor's request. "Hulk will try, but Banner puny." Thor chuckled and nodded.

"Thanks, Hulk. I promise I'll take you to Six Flags next week." He could use a good thrill ride scream or two. 

Hulk grinned, and let Bruce return in the middle of a crushing hug. He slunk off of Thor's torso, chuckling softly. "Sorry about that," he said. 

Thor shrugged, turning back to his cooking, trying to ignore all the little hurts and discomforts clamoring for his attention. "I think I convinced him to give you the weekend, provided I don't fuck up again." That was a bit of a tall order, considering what he was going to be doing this weekend. 

Bruce seemed to realize that too, because he chuckled ruefully. "Well, we'll all just try our best, won't we?" 

As if he didn't think Thor could handle himself around his family. Thor caught himself mid-thought, forced it back into the deep recesses of his mind. He knew exactly why Bruce felt the way he did. He knew exactly how many times Thor had 'tried his best' and managed to screw it up. 

"I guess so," he said, and was glad when the subject was, for the moment, dropped in favor of breakfast.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will probably end up being a little shorter than the first one going forward to make sure I am still updating! Please comment if you'd like, I've never written something like this before so I'm very interested in what y'all think!

Bruce didn't drive, as a general rule. There was too much danger of a shift; road rage was a very real problem for him. But the morning of Odin's funeral, after another night spent sleeping separately, Bruce had found three mini bottles of vodka on the top of the kitchen garbage can that hadn't been there the night before, and Thor was close to tripping over his own feet. 

Sighing, Bruce went into the bedroom to grab his oil pen. He didnt often partake in the medicinal marijuana that had once kept the other guy at bay anymore; the whole idea of therapy was to integrate himself, which meant letting the other guy exist. But today he couldn't take that chance. Today he would make that decision for all three of them. 

"Share," Thor insisted, thrusting his hand out when he saw Bruce emerge from the bedroom with the pen in his hand. Bruce frowned slightly, then crossed the room to re-tie Thor's tie for him. 

Bruce's suit was considerably more ill-fitting than Thor's, but the other guy's sensory issues made it almost impossible to find workable dress clothes. Thor, somehow, looked like he just stepped out of a men's magazine, even as lubricated as Bruce knows he already is this morning. 

"It's not for you," he replied tightly. "And you didn't hide your empties very well, I think you're fine for now."

Thor opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, lacing his fingers together and separating them a few times. "I -" he started to protest, but then looked down. "Sorry." 

Bruce let out a long breath. Thor's anxiety was generally well-controlled, but when his family was involved, it became almost impossible for Thor to control his compulsions. He held out the pen, a peace offering, a sign of understanding. 

Thor took it gratefully, inhaling for a long several seconds before releasing a cloud of vapor that drifted around his head like a halo. Bruce took a hit as well once Thor handed it back, and then together they made their way to the truck, Bruce's hand on Thor's back the whole way.

\---------------

Bruce realized halfway to the cemetery that letting Thor use his pen while he was stressed out was probably not the smartest thing he had ever done. With little else to do on the hour-long drive, Thor kept his head turned to the open window, silently chain-smoking and taking hits from the pen between finishing one cigarette and lighting another. By the time they arrived, Thor was sluggish and red-eyed, and Bruce winced when he slid a flask from inside his suit jacket and took a pull before getting out of the car.

"Thor," Bruce said. He wasn't exactly not-high himself, but he also knew exactly what level he needed to be at to function while still keeping the other guy under wraps. For Thor, more was always better, and functioning didn't play into it at all. "Don't -"

Thor quickly recapped the flask and slipped it back into his pocket. "No more, I promise," he said, looking up at the crowd gathered at the graveside. Bruce recognized Heimdall, Thor's much older half-brother Balder, and, coming towards him, her long black hair unbound yet still somehow harsh-looking, was Hela. 

"So he's gone," she said when she reached them. "A pity I wasn't there to see it." She gave Thor a critical once-over. "You're not fat anymore." 

"But you're still a cunt, so I don't know what you're doing over here, Hela," Thor responded tiredly. 

Thor's sister gave them both a sickly smile. "Oh, brother, you're going to wish you were nicer to me." With a flick of her blood-red fingernails, she turned on her heel and walked back to the assembly. 

"What was that about?" Bruce asked. He knew Hela and Thor had never gotten along, that his sister and his father had made life a living hell for both Thor and Loki, the youngest. This might have just been more of her petty torments. 

Thor shrugged and Bruce didn't comment when he took out the flask for another quick swallow. "She's just trying to be an asshole, like usual," he said, then frowned. "I don't see Loki." 

Bruce glanced around and sure enough, the youngest of Odin's sons was nowhere to be seen. "He's probably just late," Bruce assured him. "You know he likes to make an entrance." 

Thor chuckled, but it was tight and humorless. "You're probably right. Come on, let's get this over with." He started trudging towards the graveside group, Bruce jogging through the dewy grass to keep up. 


End file.
